inside since the awards were about to start. She had to hurry. Luckily she wasn’t presenting at the beginning of the show. Of course, missing the red carpet had meant she’d also missed her chance at seeing Ari Nepali. Getting a straight answer from that man seemed as elusive as the Oscar that slipped through her fingers a few months ago. Ari had produced Dangerous Race and had another project she wanted in on. Now she’d have to catch him after the ceremony.
But Emmy-winning and Oscar-nominated actresses didn’t pick up their dresses and run down the red carpet. They waved to the fans screaming their name. So Julie walked past the potted bushes, a natural barricade against the bleachers set along the carpet, and waved up to the smiling fans despite the throbbing in her toe.
She was halfway up the carpet when a pop rent the air. A firecracker? Another one broke the sudden silence and a slap of heat hit her raised arm and spun her around. People screamed and another pop exploded as something slammed into her midback and pushed her flat on the ground. The jolt knocked the breath out of her.
A hot sting radiated from her arm and back as Julie lay there, stunned. Her palms and knees burned from scraping the red carpet. The crowd in the bleachers screamed and scrambled for safety as more pops punctuated the noise.
Shooting. Someone was shooting. Her heart rate jacked up about a thousand notches. Those pops weren’t firecrackers. They were bullets. Which meant someone had shot her. Twice. Fresh, searing pain roared along with adrenaline through her veins.
Without moving her head, Julie tried to see if anyone else was near. It seemed as though all the fans had managed to get away. Many of them had cleared out anyway since the show was about to start.
The show. Trace was waiting for her. They were both supposed to present the award for the all-around best female athlete of the year. Instead she was lying on the red carpet outside the theater with two bullets in her body.
Throbbing in her arm made her adjust her head for a look. Holy shit. The carpet grew a different shade of red under her arm. She was bleeding. Badly. What about her back? How bad was that? Panic and fear made her stomach lurch.
More shots dinged the bleachers next to her, close calls. Two men who’d fallen ten yards in front of her hobbled to cover behind a row of large clay pots. People screamed and cried. She couldn’t stay out in the open like this. An unmoving target. She’d be dead for sure. She pulled a leg beneath her to crawl forward, but pain exploded in the middle of her back and she collapsed.
The bullets finally stopped. Maybe the shooter had fled? Maybe security had found him.
She tried to inch forward using her knees as leverage, but the dress constricted her movements and made it impossible. Helpless, she listened as sirens wailed in the distance.
Suddenly a man skidded to a stop on his knees next to her. His thick dark hair gleamed in the bright sunlight, his broad shoulders blocked out the harsh rays.
“I’ve got you,” he said roughly. “We don’t have much time. We need to get some cover.” He rolled her and another round of pure pain crested through her back and arm as he lifted her effortlessly and started running. More shots rang out and each step jolted another round of agony. He ducked behind the building wall ten yards from the “Will Call” window and set her down on the ground.
Lying in the sun had made her lightheaded. Or maybe the blood loss had done it. She didn’t want to think about it. Queasy, she breathed through the pain. The man stripped off his black tuxedo jacket and unfastened his cummerbund.
“What are you doing?” Her words came out a little slurred and surprised her.
“Hoping to slow the bleeding. Why?” He took the cummerbund and wrapped it around her middle. She gasped at the fresh shock of pain, at the way those fingers of misery wound their way through her back and up her arm as he tightened the wrap.
She gritted her teeth. “The way you were taking off your clothes,” she mumbled. It seemed a little extreme, but maybe not considering the amount of blood around her. “You looked like a Chippendale dancer who needs practice.” Apparently her sense of humor hadn’t leaked out onto the red carpet.